


Above the Clouds

by just_a_winchester



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Comforting Derek, Feelings, Grief, Grieving Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Other, death of a character, im really sorry i needed to write something sad and this is what happened, sad fic, slight sterek - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5898457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_winchester/pseuds/just_a_winchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Above the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to the song "Above the Clouds of Pompeii" by Bear's Den and this is what happened. 
> 
> Title taken from above song. Check out this band - they're utterly fantastic.

Stiles felt like nothing was holding him together. Like everything was in pieces.

He felt breakable.

Fragile.

Glass waiting to be shattered. 

He felt explosive.

Destructive.

A bomb waiting to be set off. 

When they'd told him in the hospital, he'd felt like a child again. Alone, waiting for his father to come, trying to be a big boy and be brave while his mother lay dying in front of him. While his mother took her last breaths, and moved on. He'd expected numbness - he was familiar with the grief of losing a parent. What he hadn't expected was the agonising twist of his stomach. The solid punch to the gut that left him gasping for air. That left him drowning.

He didn't want to see the body. He didn't want to see it, because seeing it would mean it was real, and he didn't want to believe it was real. He didn't want to remember his father that way - cold and still and pale.

His father was gone. Never coming back, only in the past, not in the present, the here and now, when he needed him most and Stiles...Stiles was broken.

He sent everyone away. He knew that it wasn't their fault, that it couldn't have been their fault, but he sent them away anyway.

He couldn't bear to look at them, couldn't face them. Couldn't stand seeing the pity in their eyes. Couldn't help but feel angry towards them because they didn't quite understand his grief.

Everyone felt loss differently, Stiles knew, and for him, he felt utter, impossible, self-inflicted loneliness. Anger. Fear.

Stiles pushed everyone away, and somehow made it home. Made it up the stairs, made it to the shower, turned on the cold water and tried to breathe normally. Failed, and tried to get himself through a panic attack. Failed, and had to wait it out.

He was just a long list of failures. 

He hadn't expected to see Derek sitting in his bedroom. He should have - the werewolf had an uncanny skill of breaking and entering silently. He should have known Derek would be here; perhaps because Scott asked him to be, perhaps because he wanted to. Stiles didn't want him there, with his calm demeanour and his stupid beard.

Derek didn't say anything when Stiles asked him to leave, his throat dry and scratchy. Derek didn't even flinch when Stiles started throwing things, chucking whatever he could find in his room at the wall. Smashing photo frames, tearing apart books, snapping his lacrosse stick in two. He pulled out his dresser drawers, ripped his clothes, slammed the drawers on the ground repeatedly until they splintered. He took a baseball bat to his TV set, put a hole through the screen. 

At least Stiles wasn't being self-destructive.

When he was done, the room was a mess, and Stiles sat in the middle of it, chest heaving. His whole body ached. His heart felt pulverised. His skin felt raw, as though every nerve ending was exposed to the air. He didn't feel any better than before.

Stiles pounded against Derek's chest when the werewolf lifted him off the ground and down the stairs to the living room. Stiles cried and wailed and screamed for Derek to go, but Derek simply put him on the couch and waited.

So Stiles broke more things. The cabinet full of china. The chairs they used to sit at during meals. The bottle of scotch his father used to drink on his bad days. 

Why wouldn't Derek leave?

When Stiles reached his parent's wedding photo, he stopped. He stared at the face of his mother, taken years before he was born. Her warm smile made him choke. He set the photo down, and walked into the kitchen. 

He couldn't keep breaking everything in front of his mother. She wouldn't want him to.

Stiles dropped to the floor, hot tears flooding his cheeks, his face screwed up tightly. Wrenching sobs made his whole body shake.

Derek followed him. Pressed a hand into Stiles' shoulder. He squeezed tightly, grounding Stiles, holding him in place. A gesture of support Stiles hadn't expected from the werewolf. Not something he'd expected, but perhaps something he needed.

The simple touch made Stiles feel less broken. 

Not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its related content/material and I do not intend to profit off of this fan work.


End file.
